


Scars

by stetitpuella



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stetitpuella/pseuds/stetitpuella
Summary: Luke Cage is out of prison and due for a checkup.  He has to tell his doctor about his new skin when he finds out it's time for booster shots.





	

TIME: 2006.

 

Dr. Maxwell Bronson finished writing notes in the patient’s folder. Chronic smoker’s cough, likely turning into emphysema. She’d been coughing up a little blood, so throat cancer was a possibility too. He frowned and made additional notes referring the woman for a pulmonary function test and bloodwork.

He closed the folder, put down the pen, leaned back in his chair, and ran his fingers through his thin graying hair. Mrs. Simmons was about his age — sixty–two to his sixty–four — and if he’d been as caught up in his generation’s passion for cigarettes as she had, he’d be in the same boat as she was now. He sighed. Or worse. His cousin Charles’ last breaths ten years back had been dreadful labored things hardly worthy of the term. Lying in bed with everything in the room permeated with the stench of cigarette smoke, Charles had bent practically double as he wheezed, coughed, coughed again, and finally stilled. Maxwell closed his eyes. He still got the shivers every time he thought about that night, and thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t ever smoked.

He sighed again, then put the memory away. Some parts of the past were simply unhealthy to dwell on for too long. Then he remembered his upcoming dinner appointment with his old friend Michael that evening and smiled. The two of them had shared an apartment when they’d been in med school at NYU together and had remained close friends ever since. He himself had been a straight MD student, about the middle of his class, and had been content to be a GP in Harlem ever since completing his internship; he appreciated making long-term connections with his patients and their families. Michael, on the other hand, had been an academic wunderkind, doing what must have been a full Ph.D.’s worth of research in one of the labs in addition to consistently being the top student in their M.D. class. He’d always posed remarkably insightful questions in class and during rounds, always seeking deeper root causes, and always seeking to improve a patient’s condition beyond their baseline. “Why make someone better, if you have the opportunity to make them lots better?” Michael had joked.

Despite their professional split — Michael had moved away from pure medicine and now did some sort of cutting-edge research that he wasn’t allowed to discuss in any but the vaguest details — they still connected at that deep level that only old school buddies could. Maxwell looked forward to reminiscing about some of the better parts of the past with his friend tonight.

Well. One more patient to see this afternoon, then he’d be able to head off to dinner.

He pressed the intercom button. “Suzy? Send in Mr. Cage, please.”

His receptionist replied pleasantly. “Yes, Dr. Bronson.”

A moment later, the door opened and a man walked in. “Dr. Bronson?”

Maxwell looked up. Then he looked again. “Luke? Luke, is that really you?”

He saw a tallish African-American in his mid–twenties. The man was bald but wore a neat mustache and beard, and looked like he spent a lot of hours lifting weights. He was smiling broadly, and the doctor smiled back at his old patient. “Heavens, Luke, you’ve… grown.”

Luke Cage grinned. “I guess I have, Doc.” Luke put a motorcycle helmet and a black leather jacket down on a chair next to the door, and the men shook hands warmly. The bright grin in Luke’s dark face was as disarming as ever. “It’s been… what, thirteen, fourteen years?”

Maxwell shook his head, a lightly mocking smile on his face. “A little overdue for your annual physical, young man.” He’d checked Luke’s chart earlier in the day and had wondered how different Luke would look now from the underfed gangly twelve–year-old he’d seen so many years ago. 

Luke crossed his arms over his chest, bent his head a little, and looked away. “I… had to go away for a while.”

Maxwell looked at him calmly. “I know, son. Your mother told me back when it happened.” 

Luke began to pace back and forth in the small exam room. “Aw, damn…” His pace quickened as his agitation increased. “I know I did some damnfool things when I ran with that gang. But I swear, I never touched drugs. Ever. That heroin — I’d never seen the stuff before.” He stopped pacing and his shoulders drooped as he looked down. “Not that the DA believed me.”

“I believe you,” Dr. Bronson said quietly.

It was the statement the American Medical Association required all doctors to make when a patient confided that they were the victim of abuse of any kind. Maxwell certainly believed it in this case. Maxwell knew Luke had gotten into his share of scrapes as a child (Maxwell had taken care of his wounds more than once) but he’d never been a  _ bad _ boy. For one thing Luke’s mother would have had his hide if she’d caught him stealing or beating up smaller children, and she would have positively disowned him if he’d ever even looked sideways at drugs.

Maxwell hoped that the comfort that the AMA’s statement offered victims — the implication that one person, at least, was on their side in a terrible situation — would help his patient now. 

Luke took a deep breath, released it. He raised his head to look at the doctor, the tension in his face easing. “Thanks,” he said simply. 

“Always glad to help, however I can. You let me know,” Maxwell looked over his glasses rims at Luke, “if you ever want to talk.” He smiled. “I still know how to listen.”

Luke gave him a considering look and paused a moment, but only said again, “Thanks.” 

“Well.” Maxwell glanced surreptitiously at the clock. “Shall we proceed with the exam? Sit up on the table and roll up your sleeves, please.”

“I could just take off the shirt, if it would make your job easier,” Luke offered.

“Thank you, Luke. That’s thoughtful of you,” Maxwell answered as he walked over to the exam table. 

“Hrmph,” Luke grunted as the gray shirt came up over his head. “Feels as chilly in here as it ever did.” Gooseflesh started to pimple Luke’s arms and chest. 

“Sorry for the discomfort. It won’t be more than a few minutes.”

Maxwell took a moment to observe Luke’s skin. Any trace of adolescent acne had long since cleared up. There weren’t any tattoos — no surprise there, though they were common enough on other men who had been inside. There were no scabs or scars. Maxwell nodded to himself. Luke was clearly a man who cared about his body. 

Then Maxwell frowned, puzzled.

One day when Luke was eight, he’d been running down the hall at school. The swinging doors at the end of the hall were standard school-issue: large panes of reinforced glass in metal frames. Luke had his arm stretched straight out in front of him to push the door open as he ran, but he’d missed the frame and managed to put his arm through the glass past his elbow, cutting himself badly. His mother had taken Luke straight to Maxwell, and Maxwell had sewn the edges of the cut back together with six neat stitches. The wound had healed cleanly with no complications, but the two–inch scar had shown pale against Luke’s dark skin ever afterwards.

The scar had completely disappeared. 

How odd.

Maxwell shook himself mentally and got his mind back to the task at hand. “How long has it been since your last exam?”

“Um… My last real one was probably the last time I saw you.”

“All right. I don’t expect to find any issues, but let’s do the full exam just to make sure.”

Maxwell got to work. Luke’s heartbeat was strong and regular, and his deep breaths sounded clearly in both lungs. “Any respiratory issues?”

“Nope. Working out’s been good for me. I haven’t even had a cold the last couple of years.”

“How’s your weight been?”

“It shot up when I was growing, and then went up some more when I started getting serious about weight lifting. It’s been stable for a year or two, though.”

Maxwell nodded. “Good. Don’t overdo it, you don’t want to end up with a strain.”

Luke laughed and flexed his right deltoid. “I don’t think it’s gonna be an issue, but I’ll be careful.”

Maxwell continued with the exam. Reflexes normal; strength above average (hardly surprising). Normal visual tracking, normal pupillary response, hearing normal. “Congratulations, Luke,” Maxwell said as he concluded, “you’re a very healthy young man. Put your things back on, then we’ll just take care of your booster shot and you can go.”

Luke stopped in the middle of putting on his shirt. “Booster shot?” he said.

Maxwell turned, eyes narrowed. Was that dubiousness in Luke’s voice, or nervousness? “Well, yes, of course. Unless you’ve gotten your DPT booster elsewhere, it’s been more than ten years since your last shot. You’re overdue.”

Luke’s feet swung back and forth in discomfort. “Uh, do we have to?”

Maxwell faced him squarely. “Strictly speaking, it’s not required. I can’t force you to take a vaccine. But it is strongly recommended. Besides,” he smiled for a moment, “it would be a shame to have someone with your remarkable vitality fall prey to something as insignificant as a bacterium. What is it?” He became serious again as he saw that Luke remained unconvinced or uncomfortable, and moved towards the small refrigerator where the vaccines were kept. “I know nobody likes shots,” he said as he opened the door of the fridge, “but they’re much less traumatic when one gets them as an adult than as a child. It’s just a little pinch. Scout’s honor,” he offered as he turned back towards Luke, syringe in hand.

Luke huffed out a breath, eyes on the floor. “It’s... not gonna work,” he said, voice low.

“What? What’s that?” Maxwell said in surprise. “Surely you’re not immunocompromised? You should have said something earlier — “

“It’s not that,” Luke interrupted, looking up at the doctor. “My immune system’s fine. It’s just — “ He stopped, looking embarrassed.

“Luke, what is it?” Maxwell asked, thoroughly puzzled and a bit irritated. “No need to be ashamed, just tell me, whatever it is.”

Luke gazed at Maxwell for a long moment and came to some internal decision. “All right. I’ll tell you.” There was a pause. Luke gazed at the floor again. “Doc, when I was in prison, they… did things to me.”

Maxwell waited in expectant, compassionate silence.

Luke stared at the wall in front of him, seeing something hundreds of miles away. “There were… experiments. Experiments on people. That I took part in. That I  _ volunteered _ for.” He ignored or did not hear Maxwell’s hiss of indrawn breath. “They were offering time off your sentence if you were in the study. If I’d known what they’d do...” Luke shook his head ruefully.

“What did they do?” Maxwell asked the obvious question, fearing the answer.

“They did — “ Luke gritted his teeth, “ — stuff. Stuff that made me… damn, this is going to sound stupid.” He shook his head and was quiet a moment, thinking. “Doc, you know who Captain America is, right?”

“Of course,” Maxwell said, a little taken aback. “Who in this country doesn’t?” He stopped, puzzled. “But I don’t see what - “

“The Super Soldier program,” Luke said wearily. “They were trying to do it again. Or some more. Whatever.”

“My god,” Maxwell breathed. “And… you were part of that?”

“Yup.”

Only that, and no more.

Maxwell stepped quickly towards the table where Luke continued to sit and stare. “What… Luke, god, what did they — “

Luke’s hand came up, barring him. “I don’t. Want. To discuss. It.” He looked down, studying his sneakers. “They did what they did. It’s done. I survived it.” He let out a breath. “That’s all.”

Maxwell stopped, arms at his sides, calm in his voice. “It’s all right, Luke. You’re safe here.”

Luke barked a sharp humorless laugh and finally turned to face Maxwell. “Safe? Jesus.” His eyebrows knit in anger. “I’m safer than you know.” He stood up, moving evenly towards the doctor, and Maxwell was forced to notice what an imposing man Luke had become.

But Luke stopped a pace before him. “The experiments didn’t work out the way they wanted. They didn’t get another Captain America.”

Maxwell looked up at Luke. “But something happened.”

Luke heaved a breath, then released it. “My skin. It got changed.”

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “Changed? How?”

“It can’t be broken.”

Maxwell stopped, stunned. “That’s.. That’s not possible — “

Luke turned and walked slowly back toward the operating table. “I figured you’d have to see it to believe it.” He sat back on the table. “Still got that shot handy?”

“I do.” Maxwell moved automatically to his desk where he’d put the syringe down.

“Try to stick me. But watch out for the needle.” Luke stretched out his arm.

Maxwell peered closely at Luke’s skin, but apart from its remarkable clearness, he couldn’t see anything unusual about it. He swabbed Luke’s arm with alcohol and unshielded the needle. He tested the syringe for blockages, satisfied when he was able to draw in a bit of air. He carefully discharged the air, applied the needle to Luke’s skin, and gently pushed.

Nothing happened.

It  _ should _ have gone into Luke’s skin like a knife into butter.

Maxwell frowned and pushed harder.

The needle started to bend.

As Maxwell pressed more, the needle flexed farther and farther. Luke warned, “You might want to stop pushing, Doc — ” when the needle finally yielded to the pressure and snapped. The sharp end went _sproing!_ _tinkle!_ as it bounced off the opposite wall onto the floor. The vaccine, no longer impeded, sprayed ineffectually on Luke’s arm. Luke rolled his eyes. “Told you.”

“Incredible,” Maxwell breathed as he bent over to retrieve the shining piece of metal from under a chair. He dropped the piece into the biohazardous sharps bin. “I wonder if the researchers increased production of keratinocytes in the basal layer.  That would provide additional layers of corneocytes in the corneal layer… hmm, that might end up turning cancerous if they weren’t careful.” He paced back to where Luke sat looking alarmed on the exam table. “But your skin appears completely normal to straight visual inspection currently. More likely, they were able to induce production of some beta-keratin in the skin.” 

Maxwell had gone to a dermatology symposium at Columbia last year on a whim, but he’d never imagined that he’d actually use any of what he’d learned there. “Normal human skin is full of alpha-keratin, which is soft and pliable while providing protection. Beta-keratin is found in animal horn, tortoise shells, and the like. Perhaps an admixture of the two types in some precise ratio in dermal tissue would confer impenetrability while maintaining flexibility.”

Luke stared at him blankly. “D’you mind putting that into regular old English, Doc?”

“Sorry,” Maxwell apologized. “I believe that your skin’s toughness comes from a protein that isn’t usually there.”

Luke’s eyebrows went up. “Is it a problem that it’s there?”

Maxwell countered, “Has your new skin been a problem so far?”

Luke’s brows knit. “No. Everything feels normal.” He closed his hand into a fist and unclenched it again, examining his skin stretching and relaxing over his knuckles. “Until something that should break my skin — “ he nodded at the sharps bin, “ — doesn’t.”

“Do you sweat?”

“Yup. My shirt gets soaked when I work out.”

“And you got gooseflesh earlier. So the protein isn’t interfering with your temperature regulation processes,” Maxwell said. “I suspect you’re quite resistant to all kinds of skin infections as well. The only possible problem that I can see,” he concluded, “is if there’s ever too much of that new protein in your skin.”

Luke raised his brows questioningly.

“If you ever notice your skin getting less flexible or if you’re having trouble bending, you get in touch with the people who did those experiments. Tell them something’s gone wrong and get them to fix it.” Maxwell decided that he did not need to detail the likely end if the amounts of beta-keratin grew too high. Luke’s skin would harden into an inflexible shell, not only trapping the man within but suffocating him: in the worst case, Luke’s chest would be completely immobile.

“Also, I could be wrong about why your skin has become impenetrable. But we can’t exactly take a sample of it to study, now can we?” Luke grinned a little shyly in response. 

“Well. We do still have the issue of your vaccination, Luke.”

Luke pulled back, startled. “Wait a sec. You just tried that. It’s not going to be any different the next time.”

“Actually,” Maxwell considered his patient, “I have an idea. Mucosa have a completely different structure than the dermis — they don’t have any keratin at all. I expect you might still be vulnerable if we used the periodontium as the injection site.”

Luke grumbled, “English. Remember English?”

“Sorry.” Maxwell thought. “Hmmm, how to put this…” He tapped his fingers against the table. “How do you feel about dental work?”

Luke’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, what?” He scooted back on the exam table an inch or two. “You want to inject my  _ gums? _ ”

“It’s one of the few places I can think of that’s likely to work, and it’s actually likely to be less painful than the others.”

Luke looked dubious and sighed. “I’m guessing you don’t have novocaine?”

*    *    *    *    *

In the waiting area, Suzy was startled by a deep-voiced, muffled “Ow!” coming from the office behind her.

*    *    *    *    *

“All set,” Maxwell proclaimed as he turned to discard the syringe and needle in the sharps bin. “You’re healthy as a horse, and you’re even vaccinated. Not that you’re likely to need the tetanus part,” he smiled, “but it never hurts to be protected. If you have any questions or concerns, or even if you just want to talk, give me a call.” He shook Luke’s hand.

“Thanks, doc,” Luke said. “You helped a lot. First person I’ve told.” He shrugged on his jacket.

“So what are you going to do now?” Maxwell asked.

Luke deliberately misinterpreted the question. “Um… I’m having dinner with a girl I used to know.” He picked up his helmet. “And I’m taking a bartending course. I make a mean Harlem.”

Maxwell didn’t push the issue of Luke’s invulerability. “A Harlem? I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”   
  
“It’s based on a Manhattan… but I’m not giving you all my secrets,” Luke grinned. You’ll have to come try one.” He turned, opened the door, and walked out of the office. “Thanks again, Doc.”

Maxwell waved. “See you, Luke.”

Maxwell closed the door once more and opened Luke’s file.  _ Healthy 25y.o. African American male, all vitals normal, examination normal throughout, _ he wrote.  _ Extreme dermal toughness, possibly due to novel expression of B-keratin. Monitor for signs of epidermolitic hyperkeratosis, decreased dermal flexibility. _

He closed and picked up the file, satisfied. He put his equipment away, turned off the lights, retrieved his coat, and locked the office door. He gave the file to Suzy. “It’s all right, you can put off the paperwork on it till tomorrow. Enjoy your evening.” Suzy dimpled at him as she started gathering her things to leave.

Twenty minutes later, Maxwell was at the restaurant entrance with Michael. “Koslov, party of two,” his friend told the waiter. The waiter showed them to a white-linened table and handed them thick layered menus.  Michael ordered the poached sea bass while Michael took the steak and potatoes. When the waiter asked if they wanted drinks, Maxwell hopefully requested a Harlem, but the waiter hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He ordered a Manhattan instead, while Michael got Scotch on the rocks.

After Maxwell had taken his first sip, he said, “So, Michael? What’s new in the lab?”

Michael, taller and thinner than Maxwell (and going distinctly bald before him —  _ hah! _ thought Maxwell), waved the question away. “Oh, it’s all terribly exciting. We’ve been doing some work on long-term enhancement of striated muscle tissue. I wish I could tell you more details; this particular avenue of research shows extraordinary promise.” The ice clinked in Michael’s glass. “What about you, then? Anything interesting come through your office?”

“Mostly just the usual assortment. Overweight adults with high cholesterol, chronic smokers facing the usual consequences.” Maxwell made a face. “Children with injuries in fascinating places.” The Manhattan was excellent, and Maxwell wondered just what Luke changed in his version. Thinking of Luke reminded him. “I did get an unusual case in late in the day. It started out as just a typical physical, but it turned out he had an interesting condition.”

“Oh? Tell me about him.” Michael steepled his fingers, leaning in as Maxwell spun his tale of a man whose skin was completely impenetrable.

*    *    *    *    *

It was, as Maxwell had said, an interesting condition indeed. Michael would have to tell Suzy to find the man’s file and quietly get a photocopy to him.

 

There was very little that Michael Koslov wouldn’t do in the name of research.

 

END

 

**Author's Note:**

> A few episodes into Netflix’ Jessica Jones season 1 (JJS1), it is revealed that, like Jessica, Luke Cage has superpowers. As depicted on the show, he’s mostly invulnerable. Bash a bar glass over his head, and he doesn’t bleed. Use a power saw on his torso, and it won’t leave a mark. (Though it makes one wonder how fast the blade gets ruined if you keep at it.)
> 
> All this made me think of how awkward a visit to the doctor for a yearly checkup must be, especially when the doctor realizes that Luke is overdue for his DPT booster. I swear that I came up with this idea BEFORE seeing JJS1E13, in which this basic idea comes up!
> 
> This universe is consistent with JJS1; this story is set 10 years prior to S1. It is largely but not entirely consistent with the Marvel comics as summarized in the Wikipedia article about Luke Cage.
> 
> True MD-PhD programs didn’t start till 1956, but I’m sure there were exceptional students doing the equivalent before then which necessitated the invention of such programs.
> 
> All the material about skin structure and keratin is factually accurate, though the explanation that Maxwell comes up with would probably only work in a comic-book world.
> 
> Michael Kozlov appears briefly in Jessica Jones S1. He’s the one that Simmons insists on seeing when he’s injured. He provides Simmons with red and blue pills and he works with the mysterious organization called IGH. I originally thought that maybe IGH would be responsible for Luke’s condition, but then I read the Wikipedia entry.
> 
> Luke Cage and Michael Koslov are the property of Marvel.


End file.
